Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

-- Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), English Romantic poet

Image: a wannabe dictator and convicted felon, 34 times over as of today

Miracle

Not the one who takes up his bed and walks

But the ones who have known him all along 

And carry him in — 

Their shoulders numb, the ache and stoop deeplocked 

In their backs, the stretcher handles 

Slippery with sweat. And no let-up 

Until he’s strapped on tight, made tiltable 

And raised to the tiled roof, then lowered for healing. 

Be mindful of them as they stand and wait 

For the burn of the paid-out ropes to cool, 

Their slight lightheadedness and incredulity 

To pass, those ones who had known him all along.

--Seamus Heaney (1939-2013), poet, translator, and playwright, Nobel Prize winner for Literature in 1995 along with a dozen other honors, one of the major poets of the 20th century, from 100 Poems.

Scripture reference: Matthew 9:1-8; Mark 2:1-12 (7th Sunday after the Epiphany B); Luke 5:18-20

Image: Healing the paralytic at Capernaum, Galway City Museum

Matins

1

Somewhere, out at the edges, the night
Is turning and the waves of darkness
Beging to brighten the shore of dawn.

The heavy dark falls back to earth
And the freed air goes wild with light,
The heart fills with fresh, bright breath
And thoughts stir to give birth to colour.

2
I arise today

In the name of Silence,
Womb of the Word,
In the name of Stillness,
Home of Belonging,
In the name of the Solitude
Of the Soul and the Earth.

I arise today

Blessed by all things,
Wings of breath,
Delight of eyes,
Wonder of whisper,
Intimacy of touch,
Eternity of soul,
Urgency of thought,
Miracle of health,
Embrace of God.

May I live this day

Compassionate of heart,
Clear in word,
Gracious in awareness,
Courageous in thought,
Generous in love.

- John O'Donohue (1956-2008) Irish poet, philosopher, author, environmental activitist, popularizer of Celtic Spirituality, and Roman Catholic priest (1979-2000).

Offering Prayer: Planting a Seed

Prayer of Dedication

(inspired by Mark 4:26-34)

May the offerings brought this day be used as seeds,
planted faithfully and nurtured lovingly
so that God’s way may be realized anew in this world.
Grant us the humility we need to plant and then tend your precious garden. Amen.


-- written by Katherine Hawker

Scripture Reference: Mark 4:26-34, Proper 6B

Gathering Prayer for Un-Ordinary Time

Presider      God of the Lark,
God of the Aspen Grove,
we join with all your creatures
in a chorus of praise and worship.

All           We are upheld by your almighty hand;
all that we have and are is yours,
and we bow in gratitude before you.

Presider      May we echo the humble thanksgiving
sung out by cicada and tree frog,
who praise You and your provision without ceasing.

All           May we find delight in the labor you set before us,
as the hummingbird does.

Presider      May we lift our arms to you in praise
like the oak as it stretches skyward.

All           May we constantly sing your praises
like the wind that weaves through pine-needle
and sets them to resonating in joy.

Presider      May we open our hearts to your guidance
for our own sake and the sake of the world,
led by wisdom of the Spirit of Truth,
enlightened by the example of the Prince of Peace,
rooted deep in the verdant garden of the God of Life.

All           Holy Trinity, One God,
envelop us in your mercy and grace this day,

                  that we may be transformed by worship and prayer

              Into bold icons of your love and faithfulness in the world.

--Leslie Barnes Scoopmire, copyright 2023

[Effortlessly]

Effortlessly,
Love flows from God into man,
Like a bird
Who rivers the air
Without moving her wings.
Thus we move in His world,
One in body and soul,
Though outwardly separate in form.
As the Source strikes the note,
Humanity sings–
The Holy Spirit is our harpist,
And all strings
Which are touched in Love
Must sound.


--Mechthild of Magdeburg (1207-1297), German mystic author, poet, and monastic, translated by Jane Hirshfield

Scriptural reference: Acts 2:1-21 The Feast of Pentecost

Image: The Spirit Searches, by Donn Shasteen, acrylic on wood tryptich

When God Created Mothers

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of “overtime” when the angel appeared and said. “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”

And God said, “Have you read the specs on this order?” She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts…all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head slowly and said. “Six pairs of hands…. no way.”

“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” God remarked, “it’s the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have.”

“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel. God nodded.

“One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ‘What are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. ‘I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.”

“God,” said the angel touching his sleeve gently, “Get some rest tomorrow….”

“I can’t,” said God, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick…can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger…and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower.”

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed.

"“But tough!” said God excitedly. “You can imagine what this mother can do or endure.”

“Can it think?”

“Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise,” said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

“There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.”

“It’s not a leak,” said the Lord, “It’s a tear.”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.”

“You are a genius, ” said the angel.

Somberly, God said, “I didn’t put it there.”

Being a mother is the best, most important job in the world.

-- Erma Bombeck (1927-1996), humorist, syndicated newspaper columnist, and author who expertly and humorously depicted middle-class Midwestern family life.